


Edges

by yet_intrepid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sirius runs away from home, Regulus hides in the bathroom to sort through the changes--inside and out, over and approaching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edges

Regulus grieves in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub.

His own room with its green and silver hangings nags at him, telling him that he was never like Sirius, and that this divide began years ago, when they were Sorted. He keeps the room dark so he can sit on the bed and imagine himself five years old again—terrified, but waiting for Sirius, who was just about to slip under the covers and make him laugh and tell him that everything would be okay.

Sirius’ room is more painful yet, with its Muggle posters and Gryffindor hangings and the mess, which Kreacher will not tidy and Regulus cannot bear to disturb. When he pushes that door open, the shouting and the whispers start again in his head and he wants to knock things over. But Regulus does not knock things over. Sirius is the one who breaks things and makes noise in his anger.

So he grieves in the bathroom, where they used to pass one another fixing their hair in the mirror and throw accusations of vanity. Where Regulus used to hide in the cupboards. Where Sirius hid firewhisky in the cupboards. Where they spilled water on the floor while fighting over the sink and Sirius fell, breaking his wrist. Where they would talk, sometimes, sitting on the edge of the tub and digging their bare toes into the rug. Where they knocked over that bust the Christmas of Sirius’ first year (who keeps busts in the bathroom, anyway?) and Sirius’ clumsy Reparo left it with a smushed-flat nose.

(Mum had blamed Kreacher. Regulus had been indignant, but Sirius had shrugged and reminded Regulus that Kreacher got  _them_  in trouble all the time, didn’t he?)

So now Regulus sits on the edge of the tub alone, and stares at that ridiculous bust while he buries his bare feet in the rug and takes up all the space on it he likes, because Sirius is not pushing at his ankles.

(“You already have more than half.” “That’s because I’m bigger than you, Reggie!”)

But Regulus was never the one who took up a lot of space anyway. That, too, was Sirius, with his clothes spilling out of the closets and his emotions—his anger, his exuberance—leaking through the house like fumes from a brewing potion. If Regulus’ feelings are potions, they are tightly capped and often stored away.

But when Sirius flew away on that ridiculous motorcycle some of the potion bottles started to crack, and Regulus does not know what to do.

So he paces the bathroom floor, passing the cupboards over and over, and he shivers. He tells himself he has already cried, and now it is time to sort things out and move on.

And he tells himself that this is ridiculous, all of it. Sirius leaving. Him caring about it. The rivalry, the motorcycle, the bust. The stupid fights about the rug.

(“You’re  _older_ , yes. That doesn’t mean you still have bigger feet.” “Does so.” “What kind of logic is that? Stop kicking me!”)

He’s known for a long time that nothing is right anymore, but the idea is working itself into his head that nothing ever  _was_  right, and he just hadn’t seen it until now.

And he’s angry, and he’s scared, and he sits on the edge of the tub alone.


End file.
